d on every
feature, and if any one entered the room she would press both hands on
her breast and utter a terrible shriek.

Finally Fanfar's wife had called him to see a scar on the breast of the
unfortunate creature. She had certainly received a terrible wound, but
when and where? The scar was not a new one.

Fanfar had sent Bobichel to the Vicomte's, for he had reproached himself
that he had neglected Esperance in his interest for these two strangers.
He sat near Sanselme's bed, and in the next room the mad woman was
asleep, crouching on the floor near the door.

Fanfar looked at the man before him, and his unerring instinct told him
that this livid, worn face had known not only great sorrow, but terrible
remorse.

Sanselme said something. Fanfar leaned over him to hear more distinctly.

"My daughter; dead! dead!"

And these words were repeated over and over again. What did this mean?
The woman Sanselme had saved was older than he; she could not be his
daughter.

Fanfar said in distinct but soothing tones, "You have a daughter? You
have lost her?"

"Yes, my Jane!"

Sanselme flung himself from one side of the bed to the other in intense
agony, and Fanfar asked question after question. He could not tear from
the man the smallest information.

Having taken a sedative the sick man fell asleep, but it was plain that
his dreams were troubled. Fanfar took up a book, when he heard the
door-bell, and Bobichel suddenly appeared all out of breath. He dropped
on a chair, and seemed to be in great trouble.

"What is the matter?" asked Fanfar.

"Oh! such a dreadful thing has happened to Monte-Cristo's son!"

"To the Vicomte!" cried Fanfar, leaping from his chair. He seized
Bobichel's arm rather roughly, and shaking it, cried, "Will you speak?"

"Yes, master, but I don't know how to tell you that the Vicomte has gone
away."

"Gone away, and what of that?"

"But he has disappeared!"

"Who says so?"

"Old Madame Caraman and Coucon."

Fanfar passed his hand over his troubled brow. "My dear old friend," he
said, "take pity on me, and tell me all you know; do not compel me to
ask so many questions."

"Well, then, listen. You as well as I, became a little anxious because
we had heard nothing of Monsieur Esperance for so long. I have found out
that the night of the _soiree_, while we were saving those two old
people in there, he was also doing something of the same kind."

"Did he not go home then, as we suppose